


Amnesty Granted

by kiss_me_cassie



Category: Firefly, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The OC, The West Wing
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:56:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various abandoned fics, not to be completed. Fandom and characters in each chapter title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The West Wing meets The OC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally started with the idea that the West Wing crew traveled to the OC for a fundraiser hosted by the Cohens. There was supposed to be lots of J/D flirting, Sandy and Bartlet conversation, CJ/Donna/Summer girl talk. Obviously never finished and never will be finished, but I felt this tiny snippet needed to get out into the big, wide world.

Donna took off her cover-up, revealing a skimpy red bikini, and stretched out on one of the pool chairs. Seth just stared.

Summer wandered by, a soda in one hand and a magazine in the other. She swatted him with the magazine. "Nice, Cohen, real nice."

Rubbing his abused arm, he sputtered, "What? What did I do?"

She looked pointedly at Donna and then back at him.

He shook his head, trying to figure a way out of the sticky situation. "No!," he squeaked, then added more firmly, "No. Absolutely not. Summer... how could you --?"

But it was too late. She'd walked away and settled on a pool chair of her own -- not three feet away from the dynamic blond from the White House.

Ryan came up to him and arched a brow. "Problems with Summer?"

Still rubbing his arm, Seth answered somewhat defensively. "No."

"She's totally out of your league, man."

"Who? Summer? C'mon. I know there were those problems with her admitting we were together and then there was that thing with her Dad -- but that's all over now. At least, I think it is. We had the little thing when I got back and then she said--"

"No. Donna Moss. Totally out of your league."

He gazed at her speculatively, admiring the slim, pale limbs and the shiny blond hair. "You think?"

Ryan nodded and then pointed at Josh. "Besides, I think he has a prior claim."


	2. The West Wing - Josh/Donna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tentatively titles "Night Visits"

With a sad smile, Josh lightly kissed her bare shoulder, then got up and silently left her room.

~~~

When Donna woke up the next morning, she was alone, the rumpled bed sheets twisted around her naked body.

She remembered the first time it happened. It had been fairly soon after she had moved into his house. She and Josh had been drinking. She doesn't remember the reason, but she remembers teasing him about his sensitive system as he said goodnight to her at her bedroom door.

Later, she had awoken to the feel of the bed sagging as someone climbed in with her. She had been about to scream when she realized that it wasn't an intruder intent on rape, but Josh.

Her lungs sucked in a breath she hadn't been aware of holding and she had turned to him angrily. "Josh? What are you doing here? I thought--"

"Shhh," he had whispered to her in the dark.

She had smelt the stale whiskey on his breath and sighed resignedly. "We need to get you back to *your* bed," she started to say.

He'd never given her the chance to finish. His lips against hers had stalled any further words and she had melted against him, her resolve to keep their relationship strictly platonic fading quickly under the pressure of his soft, warm mouth.

Their lovemaking that night had been tender and gentle, but lacking their usual banter. They had remained strangely quiet and Donna remembered how his quietness had worried her. Josh wasn't a quiet man by nature; he always had something to say. But she had accepted it that night simply because she craved his touch.

Looking back now, she knew that she had been right to worry. When she had woken up the next morning, he had been gone. Part of her had wondered if she'd dreamt it, but all evidence indicated that she hadn't. Too embarrassed by her neediness of the night before and hurt by Josh's desertion, she had never mentioned it and neither had he.

She had thought it was a one-night thing -- the result of too much liquor, too much history, and not enough sense -- until it happened again about a month later. That time, there had been no drinking the evening before. But much like the first time, he had made love to her in near silence and when she'd woken up the next morning he had been gone.

It had gone on that way ever since. Every few weeks, she would be woken up by a pair of strong arms wrapping her in their warm embrace or by the feel of a damp kiss upon her neck. And each time she melted, allowing all the love she couldn't express in the daylight to pour out under the cover of darkness.

Sometimes, months would go by and he wouldn't come to her bed. She never questioned why; she simply accepted that he had reasons for staying away and learned to cherish the moments they did share together.

His visits had ceased when he met Elena, though, and Donna had been sure that their -- whatever it was -- was over. Until he had appeared in her bed last night. And as usual, she had been unable to resist him.


	3. The West Wing - Andrea Wyatt

It was a tiny little apartment, with barely enough room to turn around in a circle in the kitchenette. Not that they used it much anyways, not unless she was in one of her baking moods. (He’d jokingly referred to those moments as her ‘wife and mother-in-training’ moods. She’d playfully swat him on the behind for his observation and then laugh as he blushed, thoroughly embarrassed.)

The bedroom was the size of a closet and their bed was so small that one couldn’t roll over without bumping into the other. (But the nights they spent making love in that lumpy, too small bed were some of the sweetest of her life.)

The bathroom was the one shining highlight of the entire place, with a huge clawfoot tub tucked under the eaves. (She has fond memories involving that tub and Toby.)

She misses that apartment sometimes, even though it was too small, too shabby, too expensive. But it was the place she loved living best, still at Columbia and finishing up her masters, full of life and ambition and joy.

Just her and Toby in their tiny apartment. Or more often than not, just her, because Toby was always off somewhere on this campaign or that, trying his best to shape the candidates views in just the right way so the constituents would sit up and take notice. It never worked, no matter how carefully he crafted his words, but he kept on pushing, hoping, anticipating the day it would.

It was one of the things Andrea admired most about him, his drive, his belief in the absolutes, his determination to be heard. She remembers the times when he was home, how she’d conjole him into sitting out on the fire escape with her and she’d make him repeat his words, in his own voice, in his own way. She’d sit there, captivated, mesmerized by the passion in his deep voice.

She misses that apartment sometimes, that tiny cramped place. It was the first place she lived after college, the last place she lived as a single woman.

But that was before… before the first miscarriage, before she made her first bid for Congress, before her mother insisted they make the relationship legal, before everything started to slowly disintegrate


	4. Firefly - Mal, Inara, & Jayne

Chapter Text

"'Nara?" You got a minute?" Jayne called from outside her docked ship.

"Jayne! Jayne, you open this gorram hatch right now!" Mal yelled back.

Jayne scowled in confusion at the hatch. "Cap'n?"

Inara nudged Mal aside and pressed close to the door. "Jayne, the hatch is jammed. Can you get it open?"

He looked it over, trying to find the source of the jam. Finally, he noticed a little bent piece of metal. "Looks like there's a bent thingy on the hinge. You sure you didn't get yourself locked in there on purpose, Cap?" Jayne asked, chuckling.

"Jayne."

"Just checking." He flicked the bent thing again. "Tiny little thing. Ain't nothing I can do, but Kaylee mightn't be able to fix it."

"Fine. Just... gt us out of here!"

"Yessir." He took another look at the door and whistled. "'Course, I wouldn't be complaining if I'd a gotten myself stick --"

"Jayne!"

"I'm goin', I'm goin'."


	5. The West Wing - Donna, Annabeth & Helen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Interview with the First Lady goes sideways

Donna and Annabeth prepping the first lady for her interview. Helen very unsure.

"These will be very lowball questions," Donna assures her, with a very gentle and patient smile.

"Just remember the things we went over," Annabeth reminds her.

"Childhood literacy, nutrition & physical activity. Got it," Helen answers nervously. "And if they ask about my kids?"

"They are off limits. We're trying to provide them with as normal a childhood as possible," Donna tells her.

Helen takes a deep breath. "Ok."

Donna and Annabeth share an apprehensive look and then Annabeth walks to the door. "Erik?"

Donna's very blond, very attractive, very young assistant comes in and glances at Donna. She nods, ever so slightly. "Send them in."

As the select members of the press enter, Annabeth babbles.

They sit. After a few pleasantries and one or two easy questions, Katie asks, "What's your response to public criticism that the East Wing resembles an elite Aryan race?"

All three women stare back at her with differing levels of shock and horror.

*

Donna comes striding up just as Josh is leaving his office and immediately falls into step beside him.

"Hey," she greets with a nervous smile.

"Hey," he says.

"So the First Lady had her thing today. She was nervous at first, but really who wouldn't be, especially after her first few interviews during the campaign? But Katie was part of the press group and Mrs. Santos definitely felt better with her there. Who wouldn't? "

"Donna?"

She stops and blurts out, "They asked the question."

Josh stops mid-step. "About her staff?" There are equal amounts of concern and laughter in his voice.

Donna looks vaguely annoyed. "Yes."

"See? I told you hiring that blonde Adonis was a bad idea."

"Josh."

He immediately stops. "K. Talk to Lou and let Sam know what's going on. I'll tell the President myself right after this thing."


	6. Bucky/Sam - Marvel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this as part of something, then lost steam, and now it doesn’t really fit anymore but I figured I’d post it anyhow. If anyone wants to pick it up and go anywhere with it, feel free… Just tell me where the completed fic lives.

He says the first thing that pops into his head. "Why the hell do you have red silk sheets?"

Sam covers his face with a smoothly muscled arm and groans, and Bucky has to resist the urge to lick his skin until he's groaning for an entirely different reason. He pokes Sam's side, trying to get him to answer so he doesn't give in to licking him. The first poke goes unanswered. The second gets a squirm and mumbled answer. 

"My sister."

Bucky's face scrunches up in confusion. "Your sister?"

Sam laughs and lowers his arm. "My sister felt my, erm, love life was lacking, so she bought me the sheets in the hopes that they'd… Hell, I don't know. She reads a lot of romance novels. I don't think she understands that men don't give a crap about sheets."

"I dunno, I kinda like 'em." 

I like the way you look lying on them, he thinks, and the way they feel against my dick while you're pounding my ass. I like that you're not afraid to mess them up. Because they've really managed to mess them up over the past two hours and it seems like Sam is lying on the one last section not smeared with some kind of bodily fluid.

He's still not sure if that's the kind of thing he should say aloud though. But it turns out doesn't need to actually say any of it, because Sam just _knows_. 

Or maybe Sam just likes kissing him. Either way, within seconds, Sam's up on an elbow and pulling his face down for a kiss, and wow, is it a fabulous kiss.


	7. Marvel - Bucky, Clint/Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past Bucky/Nat, Current Clint/Nat, Post Winter Soldier, Pre Civil War, No AoU in this universe, influenced by comic canon, past relationships, regret
> 
> Could probably be considered complete, but not really.

The air is cold and the wind chills him to the bone, but his mission is more important than any discomfort he might feel right now. Creeping closer to the edge of the roof, he raises his rifle and peers through the scope. Then he locates the correct window in the building across the street from him and waits for his targets to enter the room he has sighted.

It doesn't take very long for them to appear. 

The man is in a grey hoodie and low-slung jeans; his companion wears a silky blouse and skintight pants. They're both laughing and trying to dance. It's awkward because they both have drinks in their hands, but the awkwardness doesn't stop them. He plucks the bottle from her hand and sets it on the table next to his own, then dips his head, asks her a question. She laughs again and raises on tiptoe to kiss him. They spend the next several minutes stealing kisses and reaching out for one another as they unhurriedly undress. Finally, he playfully swats her hands away and swoops her up, to carry her through to the bedroom. 

He follows their progress with his scope, turning on the night vision to sharpen his view into the dim bedroom. He sights them just as Barton drops her onto the bed, following her down with his hard body. Their kisses grow deeper, more frantic, more impassioned.

He thinks he should feel ashamed for watching their private pleasure; he doesn't. The Winter Soldier feels no shame, only curiosity and a strange… longing?

She was his once. To train and then to love. The Widow and the Soldier. Unbeatable, unbreakable. 

His. 

She was his. 

Before. 

Before they became too powerful of a force together. Before they sent her away. Before they wiped him of his memories of her.

Before.

He puts his eye back up to the scope and focuses on the couple again.

Barton's touch is reverant, like she's a special jewel and her face... God, but her face.

He hopes...

No, not hope. He doesn't hope. Not anymore. Hope is something he abandoned long ago. It isn't something meant to be felt by men like him.

He wants. 

Yes, that's the word. He wants. He can - and does - still want.

He wants to know that all he's touched in his life as the Winter Soldier has not been tainted.

That he --

No. He won't go down that road again. 

He watches.

Watches until they are both spent and collapse onto the bed in a tangled heap. Watches as Barton tenderly tucks the blanket around their shoulders, as the woman curls herself into him.

He sets aside his rifle then, zipping it back into it's black, matte case, and reaches for his pack. Inside is the notebook where he's been chronicling everything he can remember from the past sixty years or so, the big things and the small. 

There's his first kill as the Soldier. The string of words that they used to force his submission. The foreign feel of the mask they made him wear. The memory of the first time he saw her dance. The awkwardness of their first time together. The exaltation of their secret rendezvous. His confusion at first seeing his closest childhood friend still alive after all this time. The fear of knowing he was being forced to face her in a battle of life and death. The sorrow of knowing she's moved on with her life.

He burns away all mentions of her from the pages of his notebook.


End file.
